It Happened One Night Stand
by Miroslav
Summary: It was just supposed to be a onenight stand, nothing more. How were they supposed to know that night would change their lives? MarcusPercy, MarcusOther, PercyOther
1. Chapter 1 One Night Alone

(Author's Notes: This is the first chapter of three. I hope you enjoy this!

Pairing: Marcus Flint/Percy Weasley, Marcus Flint/Surprise, Percy Weasley/Surprise

Rating: R)

**_Chapter One -- One Night Alone_**

"_One night alone - just you and me, all we need is  
One night alone - that's how it should be  
One night alone - you lovin' me, all we need is  
One night, one night alone."_

"One Night Alone" by Vixen

They agreed that it would be a one-night stand. It would be a simple arrangement – straight, simple sex, and then a promise of silence about anything that went on that night. It was a verbal contract, and one they knew the other would keep. After all, for all his hubris and stubbornness, Percy Weasley followed the rules, and for all his surliness and bouts of cheating in Quidditch, Marcus Flint was the epitome of a closet case.

And so they met in a Muggle motel in the countryside outside London, wearing various charms so that no Muggle would remember their appearances.

Weasley took off his outer robe which had gotten soaked by the slight drizzle outside, a distasteful look crossing his features as he looked around the room they had rented for the night. "A bit seedy, isn't it?" he said, a familiar holier-than-thou note creeping in his voice, and Marcus wondered why he had chosen a one-night stand with _him_ of all people. Oh yes, because Weasley was the only one he'd figured out swung for his side as well. If only it had been someone like Wood! Given, he had his suspicions about Wood, but he still had no evidence to back it up, and so he was stuck with Weasley.

"If it wasn't seedy, we might run into someone we know," Marcus reminded him for the third time since entering the motel. Perhaps he could do a Silencing Spell…at least until Weasley was almost beyond words. Then he could undo the spell and let the Weasley scream his name. He smiled, predator-like, at the thought. Prim, proper Percy screaming his name.

Having probably noticed his smile, Weasley gave him a weary look. "So…shall we start?"

"Shall we start?" Marcus mimicked, and was unable to keep from rolling his eyes. "You sound like this is a Quidditch match, Weasley." He pulled off his own outer robe, and quipped, almost leering at the redhead, "Well, then, let's get…started." As Weasley blushed, Marcus smirked and removed the rest of his robes and his boots, feeling the cool air of the room caress his exposed flesh. This would be straight, simple sex after all. Why bother with attempts to seduce the other man when they could move to the most enjoyable part of the night? Besides, Marcus had never been one to sweet talk.

He watched the lump in Weasley's throat bob up and down, and then he let his eyes move with Weasley's hands as the redhead too shed his clothing and showed off his bare skin. Weasley was skinny and scrawny and pale, but Marcus just stared for a moment, turned on by the familiarity of the otherwise-unappealing figure. It would be so much _fun_ to make the other man scream his name!

Marcus sauntered to stand by the bed, and arched an eyebrow as invitation. He resisted the urge to laugh as Weasley colored and then walked over, awkwardly standing before him. Weasley was appealing only in this inelegance and embarrassment of his, so different than his stuffy holier-than-thou attitude. Without further ado, Marcus grabbed a fistful of Weasley's hair and kissed him, hard.

Weasley froze up for a moment, and then his eyes fluttered close and he leaned into the kiss, hands fluttering around in the air for a moment before they came to rest on Marcus' shoulders. Deepening the kiss, Marcus was startled at how soft the other man's lips were. They were soft, even softer than a girl's, and Marcus found himself closing his eyes and savoring the smoothness for a moment. It had been so _long_ since he'd kissed someone, and that had just been a one-night stand with some Muggle that had left him feeling filthy in the morning.

But this was no time to be thinking of his other one-night stand; he had Percy Weasley here to do whatever he wished to. Eyes still closed, he wrapped his other arm around the man and dragged him into a rough, ravenous embrace, deepening the kiss as Weasley gave a little desperate moan. The noise sent a shudder down his spine, and he suddenly shoved the man away.

"Wha…?" Weasley blinked, face flushed and lips already swollen.

Marcus smirked at him. "Did I say you could speak, Weasley?" The words were almost a purr, and then he unceremoniously lunged at the other man and knocked them both onto the bed. "The only thing you'll be saying is my name." As Weasley opened his mouth to object, eyes darkened by a thousand different emotions, Marcus kissed him hungrily, letting his tongue steal into Weasley's mouth and silence the talkative redhead. The kiss was wet and sloppy, nothing like the prim, proper Head Boy Weasley had once been.

Weasley writhed against him, and he had never felt anything so good as this power over the man who had always been his superior in school, even though Weasley was two years younger. _Marcus _was the one in charge here, and he liked the supremacy he wielded over Weasley. He kissed the man harder, throwing aside any thought of the softness of Weasley's lips and focusing more on the feeling of Weasley's trembling frame shuddering against his. He pulled his head away for a moment, and smirked at how utterly _ravished_ Weasley already looked.

Wanting to hear more of those desperate little moans, he nipped at that pale, unblemished throat, and was rewarded by a shocked gasp. Marcus smirked again and kept doing it, moving his mouth up and down that throat until the paleness had been replaced by dozens of scarlet marks and Weasley was almost whining, his slender hands clutched at the Slytherin's shoulders like a drowning man.

And then Weasley's hands were suddenly far stealthier than any Gryffindor's should be, and stroking certain areas with an experience that Marcus didn't thought prim, proper Percy ought to _have_. He found himself mute, lips pressed against the other man's throat but no longer nibbling at the now-reddened flesh, as Weasley simply…took control.

Soft, subtle stroke after soft, subtle stroke, and then Marcus was no longer mute but moaning. He could feel his eyes roll into the back of his head from the pleasure of it all, but couldn't bring himself to mind much that somehow Weasley has usurped his position as the dominant one in this one-night stand. Weasley maneuvered them so that Marcus was flat on his back, and those hands were free to roam anywhere and _everywhere_ they wished.

Marcus arched helplessly into those hands until all wonderings of how exactly Weasley had gotten so good at this fled, until in fact _all_ thoughts fled from his mind, and there was only pleasure. He was vaguely aware that he was babbling, a steady stream of unconscious nonsense.

"That's good…that's _really_ good, Weasley…oh bloody…how'd you k-know to do _that_…oh, gods…Weasley…_Weasley_...Percy, oh damn, oh damn, _Charlie_!"

The hands stopped, and Marcus blinked at the ceiling for a moment, uncertain of why the pleasure was suddenly gone. Then he realized what he'd said, and mentally cursed. Oh bloody _hell._

"_Charlie_?" Weasley sat up and leaned over him, horn-rimmed glasses askew and his expression one of utter disbelief. "Why did you say Charlie?" There was a slight accusation in his question, and Marcus felt himself flush and bristle.

"I didn't say Charlie," he snapped. "You heard things." Shoving Weasley hard in the chest to get him to move, Marcus sat up. "Why would I say Charlie?"

"I don't know," said Weasley, tone puzzled. "You couldn't have met him…." He frowned. "Wait, you're only two years younger than him, aren't you? You would've been in school with him a lot longer than I was."

Marcus growled. Trust Weasley to remember that fact. "I didn't say your brother's name, Weasley, so back off!" He got off the bed, feeling as though someone had doused him with cold water. So much for a fun one-night stand.

"Do you like him?"

He turned to sneer at Weasley, wishing for once the redhead would just shut the fuck up. "Like him? Get that stupid idea out of your head, Weasley. Your brother is hot, hotter than you, that's all. I needed someone else to picture rather than your scrawny frame."

Sitting up in the bed, tousled strands falling across his flushed face and brushing against his swollen lips, Weasley somehow managed to look determined even while semi-ravished. "You're not a good liar, Marcus."

"And you don't know when to mind your bloody business, _Percy_," he snapped, suddenly itching to just slap the man to see if that would make him leave off. He moved to gather his robes, hands trembling from rage and anxiety. But of course Weasley wouldn't tell his brother, because then he'd have to explain…right? He paused and narrowed his eyes at the redhead. "Don't go talking to him about this."

Weasley looked amused. "My brother probably wouldn't even recognize the name Marcus Flint."

He couldn't quite stop the flinch at that as the amused words stung like a whip across his face. Charlie Weasley, not even remember him when he'd started playing Quidditch just to fly in the same sky as him? "No," he said slowly, and ducked his head, busying himself with gathering his robes and putting them on. "No, I suppose he wouldn't."

There was silence, and then a quiet, "Marcus."

He refused to look up, glaring hatefully at his fingers as they refused to stop shaking. The sooner he got these robes on, the sooner he could leave, but his trembling hands wouldn't stay still long enough for him to get his robes back on.

"Marcus, that didn't come out the way I'd meant."

Marcus kept fumbling with his robes, and his words were flat and low. "No, you're right. I was just another Slytherin to him, a competitor he could beat. He wouldn't remember me at all. I mean, I didn't do anything remarkable. I wasn't even Captain until after he left."

"I know the twins were always sending letters to Charlie about their matches."

He snorted at that. "Bloody wonderful. So if he does know my name, it'll be all the times I've beaten his brothers' arses. I'm sure he'll really think me a great guy after all the shit his brothers have told him about me." Finally managing to get his robes on, he snarled in frustration at the sight of his boots lying haphazard on the floor. How the fuck was he going to get the boots on? "Besides, you're the only fairy among the Weasleys." He tensed at Weasley's laughter.

"Marcus, did you _ever _see Charlie with a girl?"

Marcus blinked, and looked up. "Well, no, but…." He paused, thinking it over. Wait, Charlie had never dated, had he? He'd just seemed intent on Quidditch and only Quidditch, just like…. "That sneaky bastard, he's as bad as Wood!"

It was Weasley's turn to blink. "As bad as Wood?"

"Pretending all they liked was Quidditch so they wouldn't have to date girls when they wanted to fuck boys! Those sneaky _bastards_! I only wished I'd thought of it…." He stopped his tirade as he realized Weasley was blinking dazedly and shaking his head.

"Oliver Wood's not a poof," Weasley said, after a moment of Marcus staring at him. "He…never looked at anybody, boy or girl. He's asexual, if anything."

"And how do you know that?" Marcus demanded, and then it clicked, and he laughed. "Well, well, well, if our dear ickle ex-Head Boy doesn't have a crush on the former Gryffindor Quidditch Captain! How adorable!"

"Shut up," snapped Weasley, and looked miserable. Fiddling with his glasses and resettling them so that they were no longer askew, he added in a low voice, "He's never looked once at me. At least with Charlie you might have a _chance_. With Oliver, I've got no chance at all."

Marcus rolled his eyes. He'd never been invited to people's pity parties and for good reason. He was never sympathetic, at all. "If he never looked at _anyone_, then he's a poof, Weasley. He didn't dare look at boys and didn't want to look at girls. It's as simple as that."

Weasley looked almost pathetically hopeful. "You think so?"

"C'mon, Weasley, you can see the facts for your own brother but not for the man you fancy?" Marcus snorted again, but his words held no venom. "I'm sure it's the same deal, those underhanded assholes." He half-smirked at Weasley. "Wishing you'd thought of it too? I mean, you had to kiss that Clearwater girl."

The redhead made a face. "She wasn't a bad _person_, Marcus. She was just…."

"A girl?"

"Precisely." Weasley looked sheepish at that. "She wanted me to marry her after our graduation, you know."

Marcus shuddered at the very thought. "Ugh, glad you escaped that. I mean, I'll probably have to knock up a girl eventually to keep up the family name, but you don't. You've got plenty of siblings to keep on the Weasley name."

"You'll have to knock a girl up?" Weasley's face twisted in disgust. "At least I never had to get _that_ physical with Penelope. Perhaps you can just get really, properly trashed beforehand?"

He grimaced. "Let's get off that subject. I'm getting queasy just thinking about it." Him, with a girl? If he had been entertaining any further lustful urges even with Weasley's discovery of his fascination with Charlie, they were now definitely squashed with the thought of having to have sex with a girl. Marcus smirked and then faked a leer at the Gryffindor. "So, you fancy Wood, and I think your brother's attractive. Guess we won't be having that one-night stand."

Weasley smiled. "You think my brother's attractive? That's an elaborate way of saying you fancy my brother." He hesitated, and then added, "Charlie will be in London for a few weeks right before Christmas. He likes to hang around Diagon Alley for a week or two to shop as he likes for presents. He'll probably visit me--"

"No." His voice was curter than he'd meant, and he saw Weasley looked startled. "No, I don't need you playing matchmaker, Weasley. I handle my own love-life."

"Or lack thereof."

Marcus was back to glaring at the redhead, who looked defiant as he stared back. "I can handle my love-life, Weasley, so back the fuck off." When the other man just continued looking defiant, Marcus tugged on his boots. "I mean it, Weasley, we've got that contract. You don't say anything about what happened here, and that includes what was said here. You're not to talk to your brother about this."

"I understand the contract, and I won't break it," said Weasley, and Marcus was almost relieved to hear the stiff, affronted tone in his voice. Now _that _was Percy Weasley. "And you won't break it either?"

Marcus rolled his eyes. "Like I'd tell people I slept – or tried to – with Percy Weasley. I don't want people to laugh in my face." Gathering his robes around him, he stalked over to the door. "Don't think I'll look you up again, Weasley. I mean, you don't even put out."

Weasley's shaky laughter followed Marcus out the door and down the stairs. As soon as he was at the base of the stairs, the man smirked. Surely Weasley didn't think he'd actually keep to the agreement? He was a _Slytherin_! His smirk grew as he stepped out into the now-pouring rain.

He rather thought seeking out his old rival Oliver Wood would be a _very_ good plan.

All right, at the very least a very _fun_ plan.

"_Once I had a secret love  
That lived within the heart of me  
All too soon my secret love  
Became impatient to be free _

So I told a friendly star  
The way that dreamers often do  
Just how wonderful you are  
And why I'm so in love with you."

"Secret Love" by George Michael

"**_When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love._****_"_**

**J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince **


	2. Chapter 2 Gonna Be a Long Night

_(Author's Notes: This is the second chapter of three. I hope you enjoy this!_

_Pairing: Marcus Flint/Percy Weasley, Marcus Flint/Surprise, Percy Weasley/Surprise_

_Rating: R)_

**_Chapter Two -- Gonna Be a Long Night _**

"_Do you believe in love at first sight  
Just one glance and you know  
Well I do and I'll tell you what it's like  
It's something that can't be described _

And I'll never let it go  
This feeling that feels so right  
You're the reason I'm not sleeping lately  
You keep me up all night  
I've got no where to hide  
From the vision you left behind  
Though I try to fight

_It's gonna be a long night."_

"Sleepless" by Wave

Some days were extremely predictable. You woke up, had breakfast, went to Quidditch practice, took a break, went back to practice, had dinner, and then you went to bed. Those were predictable days. Then there were days that were totally random. Days you could never have predicted, not in a million years.

Days like when Marcus Flint randomly showed up in your flat, for example.

Oliver Wood stared at the Slytherin warily. "So…remind me how you got into my _locked-spelled_ flat again? And why? Why would definitely be a good thing to answer."

Flint smirked from where he was draped leisurely on Oliver's couch. "What? We were Quidditch Captains together. I wanted to see how you were doing as a reservist for the Puddlemere United." He glanced around the barren room and his smirk widened. "They obviously don't pay you that well."

Oliver just stared for another moment, and then thrust a hand towards the door. "Get the hell out of my flat!"

Flint pursed his lips and shook his head in mock-regret. "Really, Wood, I thought you'd be a better host."

"I'm a better host to _invited_ guests!" he snapped, and clenched his fists when Flint remained sprawled on the couch. Why the hell was Flint even here? They hadn't kept in touch after graduating, hell, they hadn't talked _during_ Hogwarts except when forced to before Quidditch matches. "Why the fuck are you here, Flint?"

An almost leer, and then Flint said, "I was curious to see if you had a lover hanging around."

The drawling words made Oliver blink and then he turned red, both from rage and embarrassment. The very thought of what that leer _meant_ made him shudder in revulsion. "I'm not interested in banging you, Flint."

"And I'm not interested in banging _you_, Wood," drawled Flint, wrinkling his nose at the very idea. He leered. "I can tell you who is a good fuck though."

Oliver rolled his eyes. "I don't want to know, Flint, so leave. And just in case you ever get it into your head to come here again, you're not welcomed and I don't and _won't_ want to hear about your sex life."

Flint's eyes widened in mock-surprise, and he propped himself up on an elbow. "What? You mean you don't want to hear how _good_ Percy Weasley is with his hands?"

Everything stopped at that. Oliver could feel his very heart still in his chest for a long moment of astonishment, all of his emotions replaced by the sharp sensation of shock and disbelief. Percy Weasley, good with his hands? Wait, Percy and _Flint_? His heart finally started pumping again, at an accelerated rate, and he realized he'd been staring dumbly at a still-smirking Flint for a good minute or so. "_What_?" he finally gasped.

Flint seemed pleased with his reaction, if that wicked smile was any indication. "Percy Weasley. I don't know how he got that experienced with his hands, but he was _really_--"

Oliver grabbed the front of Flint's robes and twisted them until the other man's face was red from the restriction on his throat. "Percy Weasley is not some slut," he heard himself snarl, startled at his own vehemence, "and I'm going to make you wish you didn't just try to make such bullshit up."

Flint, though turning crimson, managed a shaky smirk. "Go…and…ask him yourself. Ask him if he _didn't _meet…me at a Muggle motel…for a one-night stand." He winced as Oliver twisted the robes tighter. "F-fuck, Wood. Why're you…so angry? Disappointed that…you missed out?"

Oliver released him, feeling his face turn red again and his stomach churn with an unnamed emotion that he labeled as anger for the sake of his own sanity. "Shut your fucking mouth, Flint," he snapped. "I don't like people like you badmouthing innocents like Percy, that's all."

"Especially if…the innocent happens…to be Percy?" Even red-faced and gasping for breath, there was a sly note to Flint's voice and an odd, smug little smile on his face. Flint stood, and tossed out a random series of numbers and a word. It took Oliver a second to realize that Flint had just given him an address. "That's where…Weasley's flat is." The Slytherin took in a deep breath. "You can ask him yourself."

He sauntered towards the door as Oliver glared after him. Opening the door, Flint looked over his shoulder and leered again. "If you're lucky, he might even offer to show you how skilled he is with his hands." The door closed before Oliver could leap after him to choke an apology out of the smarmy bastard.

Oliver stared at the door for a second, feeling a million emotions at once. Disbelief, anger, bewilderment, frustration. This was a…very unusual day. He sighed after a moment, passing a hand over his face. Well, if this day was weird, he might as well just go with the flow and go to see Percy and ask him why exactly Marcus Flint was making up sordid stories about him.

The idea that Flint might be telling the _truth_ never once occurred to him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Percy opened the door of his flat, his expression shifted from one of polite inquiry to one of absolute astonishment. For a second there was silence, and then Percy blurted out, "Oliver? Oliver _Wood_?"

He could feel his face heat up at the incredulousness in his old year-mate's voice. "H-hey, Percy…." Oliver rubbed at the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious. After all, he'd dropped all correspondences with pretty much everyone after graduation, and Percy had been one of the many he'd lost contact with. In fact, Oliver hadn't even responded to a polite congratulations letter sent by Percy after his acceptance as a reservist for the Puddlemere United. "I…it's been a weird day. Mind if I come in, or is this a bad time?"

"It's…." Percy stared at him for another moment, baby blue eyes wide behind those horn-rimmed glasses of his. "Come on in."

"Thanks," he said, and smiled gratefully, stepping into the other man's flat and glancing around. It was as, well, empty as his own, and he settled himself on the couch, his smile now awkward as he looked up at Percy.

Percy smiled uncertainly back before he sat down in a chair adjacent to the Quidditch player. "So…it's been a weird day?" he probed after a moment of uncomfortable silence in which Oliver tried to figure out what to say and came up blank, too distracted by the fact that Percy was almost exactly the same as he remembered him -- horn-rimmed glasses perched firmly on his nose, freckles that splattered his face, and slightly mussed copper hair that fell around his face and was never quite as prim and proper as the rest of the man.

"A very weird day. Marcus Flint broke into my flat," he said, and was surprised when Percy went white. Perhaps Flint had also broken into Percy's? "That man's insane. He _sprawls_ himself on my couch and comes up with this ridiculous story about a one-night stand and then gives me your address to ask you to confirm his story."

"A one…one-night stand?" said Percy weakly, and Oliver was even more startled to see that Percy's knuckles were white as he held onto the arms of his chair. "And…and _my _address?"

"Yes, he…he said some…." Oliver stopped, flustered. Until now, he hadn't thought about how he would even _ask _Percy about the story. It hadn't occurred to him that he and Percy had never talked about relationships, or even girls. Even Percy's relationship with Penelope had just been 'Hear you're with that Clearwater girl – Oh, yes, I am' and that had been the extent of the conversation. Now he was supposed to ask Percy if he'd really been banged by Marcus Flint? "He said some…very ridiculous things," he finally said, shifting uncomfortably on the couch. "Like, well, that you both were poofs, for one."

Percy's face, still white, now went pinched. "Poof? That's a very…negative word."

"Fine, he said you were both homosexuals." Oliver rubbed at his face, wishing his stomach would stop churning like a storm in a teacup. "Do you want me to hex him for you? He can't go around making up rumors about you being homosexual and expect to get away with it…." He stopped at the flicker of…_hurt?_...that crossed Percy's face. "What?"

"I…didn't realize you felt so strongly against homosexuals, Oliver. I always, well, I always thought you were more accepting than that." When Percy spoke, it was in a quiet, controlled voice, and it was as though that flicker of pain had been Oliver's imagination, for now Percy's face was completely blank.

Oliver blinked, and found himself blushing hotly, and babbling out words that had the taste of apologetic embarrassment to them. "I didn't mean to make it sound like I'm against them…. I just…you know how the wizarding world feels about those relationships. I just, I just figured if he went around telling random people, you might get in trouble at the Ministry…."

"He didn't tell random people. He just told you," said Percy in a quiet voice, and Oliver blinked.

"Oh." He processed that for a moment, the heat never fading from his cheeks, his stomach twisting even more than before, and wetted his lips. "So…what does that mean, exactly?" There was silence, and he could feel himself break out into an icy, nervous sweat that raised goose-bumps on his flesh.

Percy's face, meanwhile, remained blank, and when he spoke, it was in his familiar crisp voice that meant the end of a discussion. "Nothing. It just means Marcus has a very…twisted sense of humor, that's all." He got to his feet in a single jerky movement. "Thank you for your concern about my job, but I am sure the Ministry will not hear of my…little escapade." Bitterness coated the last two words. "Flint is the epitome of a closet case."

"Then why'd he tell me so casually?" Oliver demanded, trying not to focus on the thought that Percy had just admitted he'd slept with Flint.

A crooked smile twisted Percy's lips. "Because he's an asshole."

He blinked at that. When had he ever heard the other man curse? "What?"

"Because he's an asshole," Percy repeated. "A bastard, a back-stabber, a total liar!" Some emotion slipped back into his face, and he looked pained. "I should've known better than to trust a Slytherin."

"So there _was_ a one-night stand?" Oliver hadn't meant to ask it, and as the question slipped from his lips, he realized he didn't want to know. The very _idea_ of Flint…touching Percy in any way made him want to hit something, like the very idea of Percy snogging Penelope Clearwater had, and…oh _hell_. Hadn't he told himself after graduation that he was _done_ with this daft little crush? He couldn't look at Percy anymore, and began studying his own hands, startled to realize that they were really rather grubby. Hadn't he taken a shower after practice?

He didn't look up when Percy answered him, the redhead's voice trembling ever-so-slightly. "There was a verbal contract. We'd have a one-night stand, and never speak of it again. It-it fell through, we didn't do it, and so I suppose that Marcus felt that meant he was free to tell you about it…."

"Why me?" Oliver clasped his hands together, still not daring to look up at Percy and see if that mask of blankness had slipped even more. He closed his eyes, willing for his stomach to stop churning and twisting.

Percy's laugh was mirthless. "C'mon, Wood, why do you _think_?"

"I…." He wanted to wet his lips but his mouth was suddenly as dry as a desert. "I don't know…."

The other man snorted, but when he spoke, it was in a sad, gentle voice. "Don't know, or don't want to know, Oliver? If it's the latter, that's…all right. I didn't expect you to." He hesitated. "If it's the former, I…don't make me explain it, please." And there was a weary note to his voice, one that made Oliver look up.

Percy was resting his head in his hands, shoulders slumped, the picture of weariness and dejection. His copper hair had fallen in front of his face, shielding his expression, but Oliver knew it was one of pain.

"Percy," he found himself saying softly, and then louder when Percy didn't move. "_Percy_." The other man still didn't even flinch, and Oliver stood, looking down at him. His stomach stopped its frantic churning as he reached out and pushed those copper strands away from Percy's face.

At that, Percy inhaled sharply and looked up, eyes as wide as when he had opened his door and seen Oliver. Those baby blue eyes were now rimmed with red as though Percy had been furiously blinking back tears. It was only when Percy stared and blushed that Oliver realized his fingers were still tangled in those copper strands.

He kept his fingers entwined in the other man's mane. "Percy," he said again, at a loss for words, but feeling the lack of words build up as pressure in his chest until he couldn't quite breathe. "_Percy_."

A tremulous smile spread across those freckled, reddened cheeks, and very quietly Percy said, "Oliver." Oliver watched as the other man's trembling hands reached up to rest gently on Oliver's. Percy wetted his lips, and Oliver found himself again staring as light made those lips gleam. "What traitorous doubts are in your head, Oliver Wood?"

Oliver blinked, not really understanding the question, and knew his bewilderment was written on his face.

Percy swallowed, hard, and then whispered, "Our doubts are traitors, Oliver, and make us lose the good we oft might win. What doubts do you have?"

And Oliver, looking at the tremulous smile still quivering on Percy's lips and the way those blue eyes were shimmering with unshed tears, finally thought he understood. Doubts? He had doubts -- doubts that this wouldn't turn tragic once their families found out, doubts that love could last through adversity of war and disapproval -- yes, he had plenty of doubts. But he didn't doubt what a good thing he -- they -- would lose if he let this moment go because of those doubts. Because love, even a love that lasted for only a one-night stand even, was love.

"What doubts?" Percy whispered again, that tremulous smile beginning to falter and shift to an embarrassed, weary smile of understanding that Oliver was going to realize what he was asking and say: too many doubts to love _you_.

But then Oliver smiled and said a simple response that made that tremulous smile turn to one of joy and wonder, a few simple words that made the tears of pain unshed in those baby blue eyes spill down Percy's face as tears of joy.

"No doubts at all," said Oliver, and kissed Percy softly on the mouth.

"_Oh, kiss me beneath the milky twilight  
Lead me out on the moonlit floor  
Lift your open hand  
Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance  
Silver moon's sparkling  
So kiss me." _

"Kiss Me" by Sixpence None the Richer

"**_Our doubts are traitors,  
And make us lose the good we oft might win  
By fearing to attempt._****_" _**

**William Shakespeare, "Measure for Measure", Act 1 scene 4**


	3. Chapter 3 Run With the Hunted

(Author's Notes: The conclusion to 'It Happened One-Night Stand'! I hope you all enjoyed it.

Rating: R

Pairing(s): Percy Weasley/Oliver Wood, Charlie Weasley/Marcus Flint

Disclaimer: All the people in this story belong to J.K. Rowling.)

_**Chapter Three – Run With the Hunted **_

"_Yeah sometimes when I see you_

_I'm scared to state my case_

_Got to take my chances_

_Will you leave or will you stay?_

_Got to know the way, got to know the way_

_I'm so tired of waitin'_

_Somethin' that I got to know_

_If there's one chance that you love me_

_Then we got to let it grow_

_We got to let it grow, we got to let it grow."_

"Gimme What's Mine" by Nazareth

It wasn't that Marcus was looking forward to getting cursed by either Oliver Wood or Percy Weasley. It was just…he expected _something_ to happen after he'd provoked Oliver Wood into going to Weasley's flat. Something. _Anything. _But nothing had; Weasley hadn't even bothered to hunt him down and castrate him and Wood hadn't come to hex him to next week for pretending he'd shagged the redhead (he'd expected _that_ to happen). But there was nothing, not even a word, and when he'd seen Wood at Diagon Alley, the Gryffindor had had the _audacity_ to blink and look puzzled when Marcus had sauntered over and casually -- all right, nosily -- what the hell had gone down that day.

It was as if they'd both Obliviated each other! Which, Marcus readily admitted to himself, they might have. Perhaps Wood was even bigger closet case than the Slytherin had realized. Weasley too, for that matter. But damn it, he wanted to _know_ what had happened! It had somehow, over the course of a few weeks, become a frustration verging on a bit of an obsession.

So when an owl landed on the window ledge of his flat and offered him a note written in a prim, pristine handwriting that could only be Percy Weasley's, he couldn't bring himself to refuse the very unusual invitation to come to tea the following day, even if the prissy 'PS: Try not to be as slovenly as usual' made him bristle (well, once he'd conjured a dictionary and figured out what slovenly _meant_).

Once he was at Weasley's flat, however, he wondered what the hell he was doing. Perhaps Weasley had just Obliviated Wood's memory and was now going to do the same to him? Well, that wouldn't be so bad. Then he'd stop bloody wondering what had happened!

"Hello, Marcus," said Weasley pleasantly, opening the door and smiling at him. Far too pleasantly, and it began to dawn on Marcus that he probably should have warned a friend that he was coming here, in case Weasley meant to kill him. Of course, that would've probably been easier if he _had_ friends….

Weasley just kept smiling, and Marcus realized he hadn't said anything. "Oh…hello Weasley." The warm smile was beginning to creep him out -- even during the attempted one-night stand, Weasley hadn't smiled so warmly or with such abandon. The oddness of it all made his mouth open on its own and say, "Er, I got your owl."

"I suspected as much, since you're here." Ah, _there _was the dryness that Marcus remembered from Hogwarts, and he felt himself relax as Weasley's expression shifted to one of pure politeness, his face becoming shuttered, as always. "Please, come in."

"Thanks," he found himself mumbling, and stepped inside, blinking at the…clutter. Somehow, he'd have thought Weasley's flat would be, well, organized and barren, but there was random untidiness, like newspapers that cluttered the floor and painfully colorful paintings that hung haphazardly on the wall. "Er…your flat is…interesting."

"A mess," said Weasley, and there was damned _pride_ in his voice that made Marcus turn and squint suspiciously at him.

"It was a lot tidier before I moved in. And those paintings were my idea, not Percy's," came an all-too-familiar voice, and Marcus felt the color drain from his face as Oliver Wood waltzed in from the next room, wearing an easy smile that didn't seem to reach his eyes. _Shit. _

"Er," he said again. "Hello, Wood."

The smile still didn't seem to reach Wood's eyes as the burly Quidditch player said, "Hello, Flint. I noticed you remembered to knock rather than barge in this time."

_Double shit._ He was definitely about to get his arse kicked-- "Wait, _moved in_? You two actually got together?" He had figured Wood might be attracted to the redhead, but he hadn't figured they'd actually...get serious. His surprise must have shown on his face, because Wood smirked and moved to wrap an arm around Weasley's waist. He looked smug, and Marcus resisted the impulse to punch him in the face.

"Yes, we did," Weasley said, and smiled that same warm, open smile that had made Marcus uneasy earlier. "After you, uh, decided to antagonize Oliver, he came over here and…."

"Things worked themselves out," finished Wood, and then abruptly, "Tea?"

Thrown off-guard, Marcus blinked. "What?"

"Tea," Weasley said. "You were invited here to have tea, remember?" At the expression on Marcus's face, he laughed. "We didn't _poison_ it, Marcus. Though Oliver made it, and he tends to make it extra-sweet."

"I make it just right," Wood said in an injured tone, and Marcus smirked when Weasley just raised an eyebrow and _looked_ at his boyfriend. Well, he definitely approved of this relationship if Weasley mocked Wood.

"Well, you invited me for tea, so I suppose I should drink some," Marcus muttered. If they're together, perhaps they were going to thank him for his efforts. And perhaps the tea wouldn't be poisoned. One could always hope.

So he sat down on the couch and fiddled with the teacup that Wood handed over, sniffing at it and taking a cautious taste. He made a face. "Bloody hell, Wood, what'd you do, pour some tea into a bowl of sugar? This barely tastes like tea!"

Wood scowled even as Weasley laughed. "It's not _that_ bad," he said, sitting down in a chair and tugging on Wood's robes until the other man sat on the arm of the chair. He sipped at his own cup, and added, "Better than usual, actually."

"Obviously the overload of sugar has killed your sense of taste, Weasley."

"You can call me Percy, you know." The redhead smiled, a smile which turned to an amused grin when Marcus rolled his eyes and snorted.

"Why should I--" Marcus stopped as someone knocked at the door of Weasley's flat. "Who else did you invite?" He narrowed his eyes when Wood just smiled and went to the door. "Who--"

But Weasley suddenly leaned forward and smiled earnestly at him. "Risk anything, Marcus! Do the hardest thing on earth!" he said in a low voice, and Marcus began, "What in the hel--"

"Percy!" A very-freckled Charlie Weasley leaped upon his younger brother and ruffled his hair playfully. "Very funny joke, inviting me to tea when you know I don't touch the stuff. One reason Mum always despaired of me."

Marcus stared, and understood the meaning of two old sayings in a single moment: first, _wanting the earth to swallow him_, and secondly, _hating someone with the fiery passion of a thousand suns_. If it was the last thing he did, he was going to _kill_ Percy Weasley and Oliver Wood.

Charlie turned and caught sight of him, his smile turning quizzical. "Hello there…." Releasing his brother, he stepped forward, and offered a strong, callused hand to Marcus. "Flint, isn't it? Slytherin?"

Marcus just stared dumbly at him, and after a moment Charlie looked embarrassed and dropped his hand, turning to Wood. "Oliver, good match last week. That was a surprise, almost beating the Tornados. Came closest anyone else has in ages."

"I'll say thank you on behalf of my team, since I'm on reserve and didn't get in the air at all," said Wood in a dry tone, but he smiled back at Charlie, and Marcus, for the second time in less than ten minutes, wanted to punch him in the face.

Then Charlie flung himself casually on the couch next to Marcus, and the Slytherin forgot how to breathe. That didn't stop him from noticing Weasley and Wood's smirks. Okay, now he wanted to punch Weasley as well. Meanwhile, Charlie seemed totally at ease, sprawling his legs out like he belonged there and chatting to Wood about the Quidditch season.

Why did Marcus suddenly feel like a teenager again, with legs and elbows he didn't know what to do with? He shifted awkwardly on the couch, and took a sip of his tea, forgetting how awful it was. He made a face, and then flushed as Charlie chose that moment to glance over at him.

"No one tell you how awful Oliver's tea is?" the redheaded dragon-tamer remarked with a grin.

Marcus opened his mouth and at least this time words came out, even if they were jerky and fumbling and left the taste of embarrassment in his mouth that was incredibly sour. "Weasley did, but I-I like a challenge…worst tea I've ever, well, had, but I'll be damned if I don't, er, finish it." Shit, he sounded stupid, and if there had been a spell for it, he would have kicked himself without being noticed. Why did he have to get _tongue-tied _around the one bloke he liked?

Charlie, however, chuckled. "Like a challenge, I like that." He turned to Wood. "I think I'll challenge myself as well, and have some tea." Accepting a cup that a very sulky-looking Wood provided, he took a sip and grimaced. "You're right, Flint; this _will _be a challenge."

"It's, uh, Marcus actually. Marcus Flint." He knew his face was red, but mumbled anyway, "Played against you during Hogwarts, though you beat the Slytherin team silly every year."

"I remember," said Charlie, and Marcus felt his heart give a funny little leap. "Fred and George said you became Captain. Congratulations." He offered up a warm smile, and Marcus found himself smiling lopsidedly back and for a moment not giving a damn that Wood and Weasley were watching.

"Thanks. Was pitiful compared to you, but I did my best. While cheating, of course, as I'm sure Fred and George told you." He was surprised when the last sentence came out as playful rather than angry.

Charlie laughed. "Yes, I'm afraid they used…very colorful language to describe Marcus Flint, the Slytherin Captain. Especially that time you blocked Harry from catching the Snitch."

He blinked. "You remember that? That had to have been…that was Potter's first year."

"I remembered because you didn't cheat back when I was in school, and I was surprised when you resorted to it," said Charlie, and there was an odd tone to his voice, as if the dragon-lover was almost…disappointed in him.

"Oh…I, well…." Marcus knew he was blushing like a girl, knew it and yet was helpless to stop it, dropping his gaze and glaring at the horrible-tasting tea as though it was to blame for everything. "Shouldn't have cheated, I know, but…Potter always won anyway."

"That's not the point."

"Then what _is_ the point?" He heard the testy note in his voice, and inwardly winced. He really was going to kill Weasley and Wood after this. At least before Charlie hadn't known he was a bastard!

"The point," said Charlie slowly, "is that I want to know why you played fair until I left." A strong hand grabbed Marcus's chin and forced him to look up and stare into intense eyes that demanded an honest response.

Marcus mentally sighed. An honest response? An honest response would send Charlie's tea flying in his face. "Because…because I didn't want you to consider me a prat and an asshole, even though I'm a Slytherin. After you left, though, I didn't mind pissing people off." Because it seemed like everyone in the world other than Charlie was an idiot, really.

"And you didn't want to piss me off why?" Maybe Charlie didn't realize it, but his hand was still holding Marcus's chin, and that was _very_ distracting, not to mention disorienting.

"I…let go of my chin."

Charlie raised an eyebrow and didn't move, a smug sort of smirk forming on his lips.

"Let _go_ of my chin," Marcus repeated, frustrated beyond belief. When Charlie just kept staring, he growled and grabbed the man's wrist, wrenching the freckled hand away from his face. "Now I'll answer your bloody question! I didn't want to piss you off because-because…." But now, though his lips were moving, nothing was coming out, and all he could think about was the fact that he was holding Charlie Weasley's hand. It was funny how every erotic dream paled in comparison to just to the _feel_ of Charlie's hand in his.

"Because?"

_Risk anything. Do the hardest thing on earth_. Weasley's words came back to him then, and he thought he understood what the man had meant. "Because," he breathed, and grabbed a fistful of the redhead's mane and dragged him close for a hungry, awkward kiss. Charlie's mouth was chapped and tasted vaguely of sugar, probably left over from Wood's horrible tea, but the lips were warm and firm and topped the hand-holding sensation by far.

Charlie's mouth was also unresponsive, and after a moment Marcus pulled away, feeling his face burn and his stomach lurch unpleasantly. Risk anything, ha, it was easy for Weasley to say when he had Wood. Charlie just stared at him, and he understood even better what it meant to want the earth to swallow him up. Being buried six feet under was by far preferable to having Charlie look at him with a blank expression.

"Sorry," he muttered, standing and then looking down hopelessly at his tea cup. He looked up to say something to Weasley and Wood, he wasn't sure what, and stared when he realized that the two were nowhere to be found. Oh well. Maybe they hadn't witnessed his humiliation.

He started for the door, meaning to Apparate as soon as he had slammed the door behind him, when a muscular arm suddenly wrapped around his waist and halted him. "What--"

"I thought you enjoyed a challenge, Marcus." The words were purred, and Charlie's other arm wrapped around his chest and pinned his arms to his sides. "And here you are, giving up when I don't kiss you back."

For a second, Marcus felt almost dizzy, and then he leaned back to rest against the other man's chest and drawled, trying to gather a shred of dignity, "I wasn't giving up. I was trying to get to the nearest apothecary to save me from whatever poison Wood had put in my tea."

Charlie chuckled, his breath ghosting against Marcus's neck. "You weren't giving up? It sure seemed like that to me. And just for future reference, I don't snog quitters."

Marcus twisted in the other man's grip, and looked at Charlie, who wore a slightly crooked smile that creased the corners of his eyes and made him far handsomer than Marcus remembered him being at Hogwarts. At last Marcus spoke, and it was in a low, predatorily murmur. "Do you snog Slytherins?"

"Never have."

"Then accept this challenge: snog me and see what a Slytherin can do," said Marcus, not caring if this was just a game to the older man. Even a one-night stand with Charlie Weasley would do.

"A challenge I really, really like," said Charlie. Later, the redhead would admit that he'd known Marcus's full name ever since their first Quidditch match against each other, and had been keeping tabs on him through the twins, trying to figure out the puzzle that was Marcus Flint.

But for the moment, Charlie just pulled him close and snogged him senseless.

"_Kiss the flame  
Let's run with the hunted, the untamed  
Kiss the flame  
Embrace the faceless, the unnamed  
Kiss the flame."_

"Kiss the Flame" by Jewel

"**_Risk! Risk anything! Care no more for the opinions of others, for those voices. Do the hardest thing on earth for you. Act for yourself. Face the truth._****_" _**

**Katherine Mansfield (1888 - 1923)**


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